The Divine
by The Bellman
Summary: [The Manchurian Candidate, 1962] Meeting between Rosie & Jocie. They never meet in the book, but if they were friends, this might have happened . . .


((Disclaimer: I don't own The Manchurian Candidate or any of the characters within. Don't sue me.))

The Divine

By The Bellman

Two days later the world would come tumbling down around them. In that warm summer night, more powerful forces were at work than the two women could have possibly dreamed of. Their meeting was a little candle in the increasingly dark, increasingly electric world of Communist paranoia and the Red Scare. Iselinism was taking its toll on both: one was the daughter of a man targeted by slanderous claims, the other the wife of a man searching for the truth behind the irony of Iselinism and the possible candidacy. One took a slight interest in politics on a national level, and the other would listen quietly, caring more for the personal fight of the man she knew better than herself.

Tea and happiness traded their way across the table that night, a welcome element in their chaotic lives. The first woman, Mrs Jocelyn Shaw, was only too eager to talk to another person nearer her own age: she had only just been married, and her father was more and more concerned with Senator Iselin. She had been alone for the past day, Raymond away in Washington. She was wearing rather boyish denim pants, black argyle socks that were probably Raymond's and a shirt of the same. That's not to say that her shirt was argyle and woolly, but that it, too, was oversized and belonged to Raymond. Her father's Senate seat unchallenged this year, and the setting being familiar and comfortable, she had not bothered with makeup or her hair, and the latter was tousled and framed her heart-shaped face prettily. That is not to say that she was pretty: she was beautiful in the way that only Jocie could be.

The second woman was the more sensitive one, possessing a sort of holy power that even Raymond would have been able to acknowledge and respect in his own quaint way. Eugenie Rose, or Rosie to her friends, was beautiful. There was no way of getting around the fact. She didn't have the almost snubby nose that Jocie did, or the plain brown eyes. No, she was something else. On a spiritual level she had achieved the sort of Eden that so many people longed for and could never attain: the perfect balance of romance, sexuality, wittiness, and devotion.

There she was at the counter, watching the kettle like a mother hawk. Jocie made the comparison, but Ben was the one who truly reminded her of a bird. "Jocie, what kind of tea would you like?"

"Oh, any kind at all." She smiled, and rubbed her ankle on the leg of the chair, looking at the simple furnishings around her, quite the change from her father's house and Raymond's penthouse. It was a good kind of change; comforting and warm. The place was infinitely cosier than any of the places she had visited during her father's Senatorial bids, or the large vacation homes in upstate New York. Here, everything was . . . natural, not quite so _forced_ as life in the upper rings of society always seemed. There, you had to have pearls and a Rolls Royce to have class. Here, you simply had to have charm and manners. Rosie had both, and Jocie was given to using them when she felt it to be appropriate.

Carefully, Rosie poured the steaming water into two mugs — Jocie noticed this and smiled: those dainty little teacups always smashed so easily, and barely made a sound. If one were to drop a mug, it would make a tremendous crash and make a mess, which was amusing and more real to her than any floral china thinner than her pinkie nail could ever be. The older woman plunked two peppermint teabags into them and set them on the table, where Jocie dumped four spoonfuls of sugar into hers without delay and clinked a spoon around in it mainly for the sake of the clinking.

Rosie observed this, rather amused, and daintily sat down.

"So Jocie, how's married life treating you?"

Jocie looked up, entirely alert, her eyes gleaming. "It is _perfect_. I've realised how much I really missed him before I came back to the States. Even spending several years away couldn't erase my memories of him . . . and I was only a little girl then! And he's so handsome, and his hands – you've seen them, haven't you? It's like some sort of poem, it's so beautiful . . . you know what I'm talking about, don't you? Of course you do, you're in love, but it's _perfect_ and you know – I've fallen in love for the first time, I did fall in love, but I know . . . this time it's for real. Then, I was young and I knew he loved me, and . . ." Rosie let the peppermint steam filter through her mind. It was a peaceful experience: the dazzled girl fawning over that thing called Love, the peppermint smell permeating into everything. She sat as though she was kneeling on the chair. Her feet were warm and the crickets were chirping outside.

"It's like – whenever I say his name, everything's all right . . ." Jocie looked down at her reflection in the brown tea, smiling. "I really am the luckiest person in the world. He says that about himself but I'm the lucky one."

Rosie absently looked at the mantle, where there was a picture of her beloved Ben in full military uniform, grinning. He looked so young in that picture. She had never seen him then, but the older Ben was probably better. The older Ben was wiser, and he knew _precisely_ what made Rosie happy. _A real magician with his hands_, she thought, her conscience drifting from Jocie's ramblings to her own sort of fantasy.

". . . He's just . . . he's just rather sad sometimes. I don't understand it all, but he loves me, and that's what's . . . hey, you listening, Rosie?"

Rosie was shaken out of a particularly pleasant sort of reverie and focused back on reality. Not Ben. Not hands, and not those neckties that always seemed to be the first thing to come off when --

"Oh! Yes! Sorry, I was just thinking." She couldn't help but blush a furious shade of crimson and Jocie squinted into her mug.

"You put something extra in this? It tastes different than other tea I've had before. It's very good, but I'm feeling rather light-headed."

"How much sugar did you put in?"

"Enough to make it taste nice, I suppose." She shrugged nonchalantly and knocked it back like it was some sort of shot-glass.

Rosie laughed and rose to wash hers. Jocie followed soon after, pausing to look at the pictures on the mantle. Most of them were of Ben and Rosie separately, but she assumed that would probably change soon.

"You can just set that on the counter, I'll take care of it." She ran some water and the shorter girl looked out the window to the taxi where Major Marco, er, Ben, was tipping the driver. "Oh! Ben!" With a clank she left her things where they were and Jocie was left in the kitchen as a rather excited Rosie dashed to greet her darling Benny boy.

"Ben!" She kissed him on the cheek and wrapped him in a rather clumsy hug.

"Rosie! You're still up?"

"Jocie came by and we decided to talk a bit . . . I'm glad you're home." Her face radiated a sacred sort of happiness.

"Raymond's wife?" He blinked.

Jocie giggled and stepped out of the kitchen, hands behind her back. "Hi, Ben – I can call you Ben, can't I?"

"Sure, kid." He could not help saying that, because she was clad in Raymond's clothes and looked like a smaller, curvier version of the famed soldier. "You need a ride home? It's not exactly safe by yourself in the city at this time of night. I'm sure you know that, but . . ."

"I can drive."

Rosie kissed Ben on the cheek before scurrying off to the kitchen. Jocie, on the other hand, was left with Ben, who had more serious matters to speak of.

"Earlier I told you that I wanted to see Raymond back in my office, and he hasn't come back. Jocie, where did he go?"

"Oh, he went to Washington. He was furious at his stepfather, and I can hardly blame him: my poor father finds it amusing, and I can go home to him now--"

He let out a sigh. Rosie stuck her head back in the room and gave him a clear look indicating that such seriousness was not fit for the occasion. Ben stopped himself. "If you are able to speak to him, please send him back to me."

She shook her head. "I think he's fine, Ben. But if you insist, I will."

"It's nearly midnight now."

Wiping her hands on her skirt, Rosie stepped back in and leaned her head on Ben's shoulder. "Bye, Jocie. You and Raymond must come to visit soon . . ." Already her mind was on more pressing matters. The two friends of a sort kissed on the cheeks and Jocie did the same to Ben, who looked almost tired. The Rosie therapy treatment was not too far off.

Slipping on some plain leather clogs, Jocie left with a quiet, "Thanks for the tea, Rosie," and left the two.

With a glint of the divine in her diamond eyes, she sweetly said, "Now Ben, tell me what's troubling you, and why don't you take off your tie?"


End file.
